My Dad, or An Essay with Consequences
by konarciq
Summary: Writing an essay is easy enough. The hard part comes when you have to write at least two pages about a father you barely remember. So instead of handing in a very scanty essay and risk failing the assignment, Candy solves the problem by 'borrowing' the character of Jonathan's imaginary Captain-ghost - just so she can write a proper essay. With unforeseen consequences...
1. Chapter 1

**My Dad**

or**  
**

**An Essay with Consequences  
**

.

"The man went into the house. There was a bang. What was that? he asked."

Candy sighed, and tried for the umpteenth time to shut out the monotonous drone of Jonathan's reading. They usually did their homework together in the living-room, but tonight for some reason his reading out loud distracted her tremendously.

Or... 'some reason'? She was well aware what the reason was, and it wasn't really Jonathan's fault. Or anyone's fault for that matter. It was just...

"He turned on his flash... flashlight. There was the door. Slowly he opened it. It creaked."

Candy pushed her fingers in her ears and tried to focus on her notebook again. Seven lines she had written so far. Seven! And she was supposed to fill two pages at least! What was she ever going to write about?

And she couldn't ask Mum – that'd be like writing Mum's story instead of her own. Besides, she didn't want to make her cry. But what if you didn't remember all that much yourself? How could anyone write an essay about a father who died when they were four years old?

She could still hear Jonathan's shrill voice droning on about the man in the haunted house. It was impossible to escape – just like the Captain's gaze from his perch above the fireplace.

Another sigh, and as Jonathan just turned the page of his reader, she jumped right in. "Mum, can I please go up to the attic to do my homework? I can't concentrate here."

Her mother gave her a slightly worried look. "Do you need some help?"

"No, no." Not this time. "I just need some peace and quiet, that's all. And I can't have it here, with Jonathan practising his reading."

"Alright then, dear. But you better put on a cardigan; it's awfully chilly up there." She hesitated. "Are you sure you don't want to sit in the kitchen instead? It's a lot warmer there, and I'm sure you won't hear Jonathan anymore with both doors closed."

Candy just shook her head, gathered up her notebook, her pencil and eraser, and a moment later they heard her trudging up the stairs.

"Maybe I should read more quietly," Jonathan suggested with a tinge of guilt.

But his mother hugged him. "No, Jonathan, you're doing just fine. But of course the further you get in school, the more difficult your assignments become. And if it's something you really need to think about, it can be hard to concentrate in a room where other people are talking. Candy will be alright."

* * *

Meanwhile, Candy had reached the attic and pushed open the creaking door. It was dark in there, and a little eerie – the only light coming in was the sliver of moon visible outside the window. But she knew where the lamp was, and once it was lit, the spooky attic was bathed in a warm light.

Cautiously she sought her way through the labyrinth of assorted junk here to the empty desk in the centre of the room. Unlike everything else up here, the desk was immaculate – not a speck of dust anywhere on its surface. She had long suspected that Mum kept it that way to humour Jonathan in his fantasies about Captain Gregg. Or maybe Jonathan even kept it so neat himself – who knows? After all, miracles do happen.

She put down her notebook and writing gear, placed the lamp at the corner of the table and sat down in the ornate chair with a sigh. Right. Now she had all the peace and quiet she could possibly wish for. Let's see if she could recall anything else about her father to put in this blasted essay.

She rested her chin in her hands and read through the measly few lines she had gotten so far.

_My father's name is Robert Edward Muir. He was born on March 17th, 1935 in Philadelphia, as the son of Ralph and Marjorie Muir. He had two younger brothers, named Michael and Andrew. He worked at the city council. He married my Mum in 1959. They got me in 1960, and my brother Jonathan in 1962. He died in a car accident in 1964._

Another sigh. What else was there to say? She wasn't even sure she remembered him _herself_ – it could very well be that all she 'remembered' were the pictures and what Mum and Grandpa and Grandma had told her.

She picked up the scruffy, old-fashioned quill that lay to the side and twirled it slowly between her fingers. What she did remember was that Mummy had always gotten very sad when she talked about Daddy after he died, and often started crying. And she hadn't wanted Mummy to cry, so she had simply resolved never to ask about him again. He was dead, he was gone, and he would never come back – that much she had understood even as a four-year-old. Jonathan had been too small to understand, but she was the oldest, so it had been her earnest, self-appointed task to make sure Mummy wouldn't have to cry any more than strictly necessary.

And thus she had never broached the subject of Daddy again unless Mum brought it up herself. Which she didn't do all that often either. Maybe because she didn't want to make Jonathan and her cry either.

But the result was that she – Candace Muir – at the age of nine could barely fill half a page in her notebook about her father.

She threw down the old quill. "Blasted essay..." It was a good word for expressing something you felt particularly angry about: _blast!_ She'd picked it up from Jonathan, who claimed he had learned it from his imaginary ghost-friend Captain Gregg. Of course he...

Suddenly she froze in her seat. What if...? Couldn't she...? Why not, really? Mrs. Henderson wanted her to write a proper essay, right? Two to four pages as usual, she had said. And since there was no way she was going to fill even one page about her real father, why not...?

And with a satisfied smirk she rested her chin in her hand to work out the details. Problem solved!

* * *

They had just started on their homework the following evening when the phone rang, and a moment later Martha's head appeared around the door of the living-room to say it was for Mrs. Muir. So Mrs. Muir went into the hall and picked up the phone. "Hello? This is Mrs. Muir speaking."

"_Mrs. Muir, it's Mrs. Henderson, Candy's class teacher."_

"Oh, hello, Mrs. Henderson. What can I do for you?" She glanced back towards the living-room. Apparently Candy was engrossed in her maths.

"_Mrs. Muir, did you happen to read the essay Candy wrote for her homework yesterday?"_

Mrs. Muir frowned a little. "No, I did not. I recall she did seem to have trouble getting started, but she said she didn't need any help. In the end she went off to the attic to work in peace and quiet, as she said, but when she came down again she happily told me she got it done." As an afterthought she added, "Candy is very conscientious about her homework, as I'm sure you have noticed. That's why I usually don't check up on her work – to foster her sense of responsibility. Unless she asks me to, that is."

On the other end of the line, Mrs. Henderson cleared her throat. _"Well, this is one essay I think you _should_ read, Mrs. Muir. Could you perhaps drop off your children a little early tomorrow morning, and come and see me in the classroom before school starts?"_

"Yes, of course." She hesitated. "Would you like me to ask her about it right now?"

"_No,"_ came the reply. _"No, I think you'd better read this first. Good evening, Mrs. Muir. I'll see you at school first thing tomorrow morning."_

"Yes. Good evening." Slowly she put down the phone, with worry and curiosity battling for dominance in her mind. What on earth could Candy have written in that essay to cause such a reaction?

* * *

It had been awfully difficult to curb her curiosity and _not_ ask her daughter about the offending essay. But here they were at school, it was barely ten to eight, and Candy and Jonathan gave her a hug goodbye and ran off to play with the other early arrivals in the playground.

And Mrs. Muir got out of the car, and quickly made her way to the main entrance. She felt oddly guilty without knowing what for, and wondered briefly if this was what it was like when you'd been summoned to the police station to bail your children out of jail for joyriding or shoplifting or something like that. Well, hopefully she'd never have the opportunity to make the comparison.

But there was Candy's classroom, with Mrs. Henderson at her desk.

She knocked, and at the teacher's, "Come in!" she entered the classroom and said, "You wanted to see me, Mrs. Henderson?"

"Ah, Mrs. Muir, yes. Well, I think you'd better read your daughter's essay yourself, before I say anything." She handed her the red notebook Mrs. Muir immediately recognized as Candy's.

So she took it, and leaning against one of the desks in the front row she looked at the title on the page that lay open in her hand.

"_My Dad_."

_My Dad_? Was _that_ what they'd had to write their essay about the other day? No wonder Candy had found it difficult!

But she forced herself to read on. After all, the school had all the records, so no doubt Mrs. Henderson was aware that Candy's father had been dead for several years. So what else could it be that had the teacher so worried?

With a frown she started reading her daughter's neat handwriting, and already at the first line she felt her jaw beginning to drop.

* * *

_My father's name is Daniel Edward Muir. He is a very nice man, with blue eyes and lightbrown curly hair and a beard. He is a seacaptain, and that is why he is hardly ever home with us. He has been all over the world with his ship: in Africa and Japan and China and Russia and Europe and France and Australia and Canada and Brazil and Argentina and even to the Southpole. He brings stuff for people from one port to another. _

_There are ten people on his ship, and he is the boss. The ship is called Cacajo 2. Cacajo means CArolyn (my Mum's name) CAndy JOnathan. He says he feels like we are with him when his ship bears our names. The 2 is because it is his second ship. The first ship that was simply called Cacajo got in a very bad storm in the Pacific one day, and it sank. My Dad and most of the sailors managed to get to a deserted island, where they had to live off coconuts and berries. But they didn't know that some berries were poisonous, so they got very sick. But the native people of the island found them and cured them with special herbs. Everyone thought my father and the sailors were dead, but a few years later a Japanese ship came to the island and my father and his men were allowed to come on board and go back to Japan with them. And from Japan they came back home again. Of course we were very happy!_

_The house we live in now was built by my father's great-great-great-grandfather on his mother's side. It is called Gull Cottage and there are a lot of things that people used to have on ships a long time ago, like a telescope and a compass. Most of these things were my great-great-great-grandfather's, for he was a seacaptain, too. But my father likes these old things, and he always brings home lots of them when he comes to visit us. We store most of them in the attic, and my brother and I can play there as much as we want. We both like the big telescope best. It lets you look at faraway things as if they are right in front of you. My brother wants to follow the family tradition and become a seacaptain, too, when he grows up. My father has already taught him knots and how to shoot the sun. That helps you to find out where you are. He can also tell the time by the stars, but I think it's easier to look at the clock._

_My father has lots of adventures when he is out at sea. He has even fought with pirates once! When he comes home my brother and I are always allowed to stay up very late so we won't miss out on any of his stories. But because he is away most of the time, we don't really miss him when he is at sea. It is normal when he is away, and special when he is home. Then it is almost like Christmas because he always brings us presents. I hope he comes home again soon. _

_The End_

* * *

Slowly, Mrs. Muir lowered the notebook. Her thoughts were such a jumble that she barely registered that Mrs. Henderson was addressing her again. "Pardon?"

"I said," Mrs. Henderson repeated. "It seems obvious to me that Candy sorely misses a father figure in her life. So badly even, that she has resorted to making one up."

"Yes," Mrs. Muir replied distractedly. _What on earth had Candy been thinking? Why hadn't she simply written about Bob?_

"I didn't want to make a scene in class about it," Mrs. Henderson continued. "It's not always easy to predict how sensitive a child is about a dead parent after several years." She hesitated. "Her father _is_ dead though, isn't he?"

Mrs. Muir merely nodded. _Oh Bob, how __could she deny you like that? She was always such a Daddy's girl, and now...?_

"I suggest, Mrs. Muir, that you have a serious talk with your daughter about this. And if I may be so bold, I'd certainly recommend seeking professional help for her. The trauma of losing a parent can manifest itself in many ways – even years later. This really should not be taken lightly, Mrs. Muir."

"No. No, of course not." Mrs. Muir had to physically force herself back to the present. "I will talk to her tonight, I promise. Can I... Is it okay if I take this notebook with me now?"

"Of course. Goodbye, Mrs. Muir. And thank you for dropping by."

Almost as in a daze, Mrs. Muir left the classroom and the building, and how she found her way back to the car she had no idea. But there she sat, with the incriminating notebook open on the steering wheel, with the hateful title, "_My Dad_", jumping out at her – glaringly, jeeringly, tauntingly. Oh Candy, how _could_ you?

Tears stung behind her eyes. Bob... oh Bob, dammit, _why_ did you have to die? Why couldn't you stay around and at least help me raise our kids – _your_ kids? Your son whom I suspect doesn't even remember you at all. Your daughter who now denies your very existence...? What am I to do – what am I even to _say_ to her?

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. It was no use, and she knew it. Bob was gone and she had to deal with raising the kids all by herself, as she had for the past five years. Darn it, why couldn't _he_ be the one haunting Gull Cottage instead of...?

Her thoughts came to an abrupt halt. For Bob may not be there with helpful (or unhelpful) advice, but Captain Gregg _was_ available. At least as a soundboard. And although his views may be somewhat old-fashioned, he had shown often enough that he really cared about her children. Even about Candy, to whom he still hadn't shown himself.

Or... had he? That story of Candy's did bear a remarkable semblance to the kind of things the Captain tended to tell Jonathan about. So had he perhaps shown himself to her now, too? Then why hadn't she said anything? And why hadn't _he_ said anything?

She put the offending notebook aside and started the car. Until Candy came home from school, it seemed there was only one person who might be able to shed some light on this drama. And she was determined to get to the bottom of it, even if she had to... to... well, _whatever_ one did to make a ghost talk!

* * *

Martha came out of the kitchen just as she came in the door. "Ah, Mrs. Muir. Would you fancy a fresh cup of coffee? I've just put the kettle on."

She shook her head, determined to speak to the Captain as soon as possible. "No, thank you, Martha. I've got a lot of work to catch up on. Can you please answer the phone for me and hold people off at the door?"

"Of course," Martha promised. But she already said it to Mrs. Muir's back as she quickly went up the stairs.

"Captain," Mrs. Muir called half-loud as she had closed the door of her room behind her. "Captain, I need to talk to you."

Instantly he appeared in the easy chair by the bookshelves. "Well, madam, what seems to be the problem?"

"Captain." She took a few firm steps in his direction. "Have you shown yourself to Candy without informing me?"

A twinge of sadness crossed his face. "No, madam. I'm afraid your daughter still doesn't seem ready to handle the idea of living with a ghost."

"Then how do you explain _this_?" She thrust the red notebook at him, opened on the page titled, "_My Dad_".

He quickly scanned through it, a clear twitch of amusement on his face. "An excellent composition if I may say so. Well worded, clear structure. She might very well follow in your footsteps one day, Mrs. Muir. Although..." He pulled at his earlobe. "The tale is a bit over the top of course."

"Over the top?" Mrs. Muir exclaimed. "She pretty much calls you her _father_, and yet you claim she's never seen you!"

"I assure you, madam, she has not." The Captain watched her pace back and forth. "Could she perhaps have embellished the things she's heard about me from Jonathan?"

"Perhaps, yes. But why would she _do_ such a thing? What's wrong with writing about her own father – her _real_ father?"

Tears were now evident in her voice, and a tissue magically appeared in her hand. And as she daubed her eyes with it, he observed quietly, "That's what this is really about, isn't it – that she seems to imply in this story that _I'm_ her father, instead of your late husband."

Mrs. Muir stared at him for a second, and suddenly she sank down in the chair opposite his. "You're right of course. It hurts _me_, even though I know all too well that Candy had only just turned four at the time. How can anyone expect her to really remember her father?" She sighed. "But I still don't understand. I know for certain that she _knows_ about her father, even if she may not really remember him. So what makes her suddenly deny that? Wishful thinking? But why would she want you for a father if she's never even met you?" She shook her head. "Her teacher thought that it might simply be a case of her missing a father figure in her life." A joyless laugh. "So maybe you _should_ show yourself to her. As an alternative to psychiatric therapy."

He nodded. "I would be honoured to take on such a role in her life," he said in deep earnest. "But I suggest we wait and see what she has to say for herself about this composition when she comes home. It's no use trying to think of a solution as long as we don't know the facts."

Relieved that the burden was not on her shoulders alone anymore, Mrs. Muir smiled. "Thank you, Captain."

* * *

It was Mrs. Coburn's turn this week to bring the children home from school, and already twenty minutes before they could reasonably be expected, Mrs. Muir found herself pacing the living-room, reading and rereading Candy's latest composition.

But suddenly she started as she found the Captain blocking her way.

"I found this in the attic," he said, and handed her a sheet of notebookpaper that had clearly been crumpled up.

"_My Dad_", it said at the top, and Mrs. Muir read,

_My father's name is Robert Edward Muir. He was born on March 17th, 1935 in Philadelphia as the son of Ralph and Marjorie Muir. He had two younger brothers, named Michael and Andrew. He worked at the city council. He married my Mum in 1959. They got me in 1960, and my brother Jonathan in 1962. He died in a car accident in 1964._

"This at least proves she hasn't forgotten him yet," was all the Captain said before he disappeared again.

Mrs. Muir pressed the crumpled paper to her chest, and felt tears flooding her eyes. No. Apparently Candy hadn't forgotten him yet. That was something to be grateful for under the circumstances. But then why did she deny her own father? Why had she thrown away this honest text about Bob, and resorted to that... that... nonsense about a seacaptain? Why, Candy? Why?

But there was the sound of a car door slamming, announcing the arrival of the children.

Mrs. Muir quickly composed herself. Crossing over to the kitchen, she wiped away her tears and called with an almost steady voice, "Martha? Martha, I have something important to discuss with Candy. Can you please keep Jonathan away from the living-room until we're done?"

"Sure," was all Martha got out before the front door opened and the two young Muirs came running in.

"Hi Mum, hi Martha!"

"Hello kids, how was school today?"

"Fine," came the standard reply in unison.

And a nervous Mrs. Muir gathered up her courage. "Candy, can I talk to you for a moment?"

Candy gave her a look of surprise, but obediently she followed her mother into the living-room and sat down with her on the couch.

"Candy," her mother began, trying to hide her anguish the best she could. "Candy, Mrs. Henderson has shown me the essay you have written this week – about your Dad." She produced the red notebook, and instantly, Candy's cheeks turned a bright shade of crimson.

"Candy?" her mother probed.

"You weren't supposed to see that," the girl grunted, her eyes fixed on the floor.

"Why not?"

A shrug.

"Candy, why did you make up this story about a seacaptain instead of writing about your own Dad?"

The girl looked up. "Are you mad at me?"

Mrs. Muir was taken aback for a moment. "Mad at you?"

Another shrug. "For telling such a big lie." She looked away again.

Her mother shook her head. "I was a little mad – at first," she admitted. "But mostly I was terribly sad and disappointed. I didn't understand. I thought you had forgotten all about your Dad." She reached behind her. "Until we found this."

Candy glanced at the crumpled paper and sighed. "I didn't mean to make you sad, Mum – I really didn't. That's why I did it in the first place."

Her mother looked rather puzzled. "Maybe this makes more sense if we start from the beginning instead of at the end. It seems to me you started writing your essay about your Dad, but then you changed your mind and wrote about this captain instead. Is that correct?"

The girl nodded.

"What made you decide to do that?"

Candy sighed, and still kept her eyes on the floor. "I tried writing about Dad – I really tried, Mum. But it didn't work. I just didn't know what to write."

Her mother hugged her close. "Then why didn't you come and ask me? I could tell you lots of things about your father."

The girl shook her head. "I didn't want to make you cry. And besides, then it would have been _your_ story, not mine."

Mrs. Muir had a sad smile. "Sweetheart, you're always welcome to ask me about your father – even if it does make me cry occasionally. The last thing I want is for you to forget about your father." A painful grimace. "It's bad enough that Jonathan doesn't remember him at all – he wasn't even two years old yet at the time. I wouldn't want _you_ to forget the little you may remember as well."

Candy looked up. "See? You're already crying," she said quietly.

Her mother forced a grin through her tears. "Yes, but that's just because I feel so bad for talking so little about your father that his daughter couldn't even write a decent essay about him."

Candy returned the grin. "Well, I did write a decent essay, I think. The kind Mrs. Henderson expects from us. It just wasn't really about my father."

"Which brings us right back to the heart of the issue." Mrs. Muir wiped away a stray tear. "I understand why you didn't want to ask me, although I still think you should have. But what on earth made you decide to write that fancy tale about having a seacaptain for a father?"

A hint of colour rose to Candy's cheeks again as she studiously avoided her mother's eyes. "Well... you see, we had to write at least two pages. And I didn't recall enough about Dad to fill even _one_ page, so I was going to have to make up things in any case." She hesitated. "But it felt awful having to make up things about my own Dad. I don't know – somehow it was easier to make up a whole new Dad than telling lies about my real Dad." She shyly glanced up at her mother. "Does that sound weird?"

"No." Her mother stroked back the girl's blonde hair. "No, it doesn't sound weird, honey. It just shows that you still do love your father, even if you don't remember much about him."

"I suppose so, yes." Candy pulled up her knees to her chest, and nodded toward the painting above the fireplace. "So I decided to borrow Jonathan's ghost-captain, and write about him instead. At least there's enough to tell about a seacaptain to fill a few pages, and with such a job it'd make sense that he wasn't home very often. And with the way Jonathan is always going on about him, I figured I could make the story sound genuine enough to give Mrs. Henderson the idea that I knew what I was talking about."

Her mother smiled at that. "I understand. So it was merely a practical way to deal with a difficult homework assignment, right?"

Candy nodded. "So you're not mad?"

"No, I'm not mad, dear. Although..." Her mother's eyes flitted to the curtain that closed off the alcove.

Candy followed her gaze, but there was nothing there. "Although what?" she prompted.

Her mother jerked as if she was torn from a private reverie. "What? Oh! Hm. I mean... Candy, do you think you would _like_ to have a father figure in your life again?"

The girl gave her a puzzled look – but suddenly her eyes narrowed and she asked, "Are you thinking of marrying another man?"

"No – goodness, no!" Her mother's laugh sounded rather nervous to Candy's ears. "Believe me, there's no one suitable around here that I would even _consider_ marrying." Again she looked over to the curtain, but then she continued in a more calm voice, "I just meant it hypothetically: having a friend – a grown-up _male_ friend – who can do those real father-things with you and Jonathan. That doesn't necessarily mean I need to marry him." She paused. "Would you like that – having sort of a surrogate father?"

Candy mulled that over for a moment. "I don't know," she said slowly. "I don't really remember what it's like to have a father. But it might be nice to try. Most kids I know love doing things with their father, so..."

Once again her mother looked over to the curtain, and even nodded at it. Odd... But then she turned back to her daughter. "Candy, there is someone who would love to take on the role of surrogate father for you."

Candy raised her eyebrows. "Who? Do I know him?" A sudden grimace. "Not Mr. Gregg, I hope?"

Her mother laughed a little, and took her hands in hers. "No, not Mr. Gregg. Though his name is Gregg, too. It's..." A deep breath. "It's Jonathan's ghost."

Candy stared at her in utter incomprehension, before she let her eyes wander off to the portrait above the fireplace. "Him? But he's dead!"

"Yes, he is." She closed her eyes for a moment. This sure wasn't easy... "He is dead, but his spirit still lives here in Gull Cottage."

"You don't believe in ghosts," Candy reproached in return. "You've always said so. Ghosts are just figments of people's imagination."

Her mother nodded. "That's what I used to believe, yes. But sometimes, the facts force you to alter your beliefs. And there is simply no denying that Captain Gregg's spirit still lives in this house."

"How do you know?" the practical Candy demanded. "Have you seen him?"

Her mother nodded. "Many times. Practically every day since we moved in here. All I need to do is call him, and usually he appears instantly. Jonathan sees him, too, and so does Scruffy."

"Scruffy, too?" the girl reacted surprised.

"Yes, Scruffy, too. And remember all those tales of Jonathan's about everything he does with the Captain?"

Candy nodded, and her mother squeezed her hands encouragingly.

"Those stories are true, Candy. Captain Gregg really is like a surrogate father for him. And he'd very much like to be the same for you – but only if you want him to. And I confess he's become... well, quite a good friend for me, too."

"He is?" Candy frowned. "Then how come I've never seen him?"

"Based on your reactions to Jonathan's stories, the Captain was afraid that you'd be frightened of him. He's a good man, Candy – he really doesn't want to scare you."

"Hm," Candy harrumphed as she slid off the couch. "Well, if Jonathan isn't afraid of him, then _I'm_ not afraid of him either. After all, I'm two years older!" And with that, she marched right out of the room – only to turn back right away to ask where she might find the Captain.

Another glance at the curtain – what the heck did she see there? – and her mother replied, "Why don't you try the attic? That's where most of his stuff is stored."

Candy turned on her heel, and the two grown-ups in the living-room listened to her stomping up the stairs in angry defiance of that stupid ghost who didn't even give her a chance to show that she was no more afraid of him than her baby brother. Just because she was a girl no doubt!

"Please, Captain," Mrs. Muir pleaded as the determined footsteps continued up the stairs to the attic. "Be gentle with her."

"No need to worry, madam. Of course I will." And instantly the Captain disappeared from his spot in front of the alcove curtains.

* * *

Cautiously, Candy inched the creaking door of the attic room open. A broad beam of daylight shone in through the window, so things didn't look half as eerie has they had two days ago, when she had come up here to write her essay in peace and quiet.

But back then she hadn't known – or rather: not _believed_ – that there was a ghost living in Gull Cottage...

But if what Mum said was true, she was determined to wipe out the shameful fact that she had been badly outdone by her little brother in this matter. So she stuck out her chin, muttered once more that if Jonathan wasn't afraid of a ghost, then _she_ wasn't afraid either, and with a deep breath she stepped into the room and closed the door behind her. There – that would show the blasted ghost that she wasn't afraid of him!

But nothing happened. Here she stood, tense as a spring for her first private meeting with a real live ghost – and nothing happened?

Her eyes wandered over all the wonderful old junk strewn about. How many times had she and Jonathan played up here – apparently with the Captain's personal belongings? And there was the large desk – spic and span as ever – where she had written her essay. So maybe he kept it so neat and clean himself?

Now where was that blasted ghost? He wasn't afraid of _her_, was he? Perhaps she should call him? Mummy had said something like that he appeared whenever she called him. Well, better get it over with then. "Captain Gregg?" Awfully shrill it sounded, but it was now or never. She pushed away her latent fear and yelled at the top of her lungs, "Captain Gregg! I dare you to show yourself to me! _I'm_ not afraid of a silly ghost!"

She jumped at least a foot high as all of a sudden a man was sitting in the ornate chair at the desk. Already she turned to run from the room – when she remembered Jonathan, and that she had vowed not to be scared...

Slowly, warily, she turned back to face the man. The curly lightbrown hair, the beard, the blue eyes, the dark jacket... He sure looked just like the guy in the painting. Only his cap was missing.

For an unconscious amount of time she just stood there, staring at him, taking him in. And he looked back at her, with his best friendly uncle look.

At last, Candy found her power of speech again. "A... are you for real?"

The man at the desk nodded. "Yes, Candy, I am for real. Not alive, but definitely for real."

"How do you know my name?" the girl breathed.

"From your mother. And from Jonathan."

"Oh." Yes, that made sense. She ventured a step closer – after all, he didn't look very scary. Normal even. Like a man you could meet out in the street. "Are you really a ghost? You don't look like one."

He chuckled. "You mean with a sheet over my head? No – those are only the childish pranks of Halloween. I'm still the same man I always was – only not alive anymore."

Candy returned the smile in a rather wobbly manner, and whispered in awe, "So the people in Schooner Bay were right – Gull Cottage really is haunted!"

But the Captain shrugged it away. "If that's what you want to call a man residing in his own lawful home..."

"But they say you scared lots of tenants away," Candy insisted hesitantly.

"And so I did." The Captain took up his pipe and checked if there was any tobacco left in it.

It looked so homey that she ventured yet another step closer. "Why? And how come you didn't chase _us_ away?"

He grumbled a bit. "I tried to at first, as you might recall. Don't you remember your first night here?"

Candy nodded. "Coming and going, all night long."

"Exactly." He sat up and put down his pipe. "But unlike those other nitwits that Claymore imposed upon me over the years, I found to my own surprise that I didn't _want_ you to leave."

"Why not?"

Furtively, he glanced around. "Can you keep a secret? A _real_ secret?"

The girl nodded eagerly. "Cross my heart and hope to... Oh. I'm sorry."

He smiled his crooked little smile. "That's okay. I've gotten used to it by now."

"But what is this secret?" Candy pressed him. "I promise I won't tell anyone."

He beckoned her a little closer still. "When I first set eyes upon your mother, something happened to me that I had never experienced before – I fell in love."

Candy's eyes beamed. "With my Mum? Oh, how romantic! Does she know – have you told her? No – of course not, otherwise you wouldn't be telling me this in secret. But..." She faltered. "How can you fall in love when you're... well... dead?"

He shrugged a little. "I don't know – it just happened. I still have ordinary human feelings, you know." He sighed. "But believe me, having been a confirmed bachelor all my life – and I mean both before and after my passing – I was truly astounded to find how much having a wife and a family enriches one's existence."

Candy's eyes bulged. "Wife? You mean you're _married_ to my Mum?"

A quiet laugh grumbled up from his throat. "No, my dear, there's no need to worry about that. Although I would certainly have asked for your mother's hand in marriage had she been born in my time – or I in hers. Unfortunately, that was not meant to be."

Candy let go of her breath with obvious relief. "No. I suppose it gets complicated with the paperwork if you want to marry a ghost."

"Exactly." Another quiet laugh, but he sobered right away. "No. Instead I've settled for the next-best thing: to protect and take care of your mother to the best of my limited supernatural abilities, and to experience the joys of fatherhood by pretending to be Jonathan's surrogate father." His face softened. "And I would dearly like to pretend to be _your_ surrogate father, too, Candy. That is, if you would allow me to. I would be truly honoured to have a fine young lady like you for a daughter."

Candy couldn't help but grant him her warmest smile. "That'd be neat. Thanks," she said quietly.

He returned the smile in full. "I should be the one thanking you instead," he insisted. "But let us not quarrel about that. In the meantime, is there anything in particular you've been longing to do with a father?"

Candy's face turned thoughtful. "I remember," she said slowly. "How my Dad used to throw me high up in the air and then catch me again..." Her voice trailed off as she noticed the Captain's pained expression.

"I'm sorry, Candy, but that is not the kind of thing I'm able to do. I'm not solid like a real person, remember? I'm just a ghost. I can't touch you."

The girl studied him – almost as if she suddenly remembered she'd been talking to a ghost for the past ten minutes, he thought.

"You look solid enough to me," she remarked gravely. But before he could make a reply, she shrugged it off and pitched another idea. "So can you play ball with us then? Or tell me about all these things you have in the attic here? Or teach me all that stuff you've been teaching Jonathan, like shooting the sun?"

His smile returned. "That I can do, yes."

"Or..." Candy leaned over the desk and picked up the scruffy quill she'd been playing with before. "Can you teach me how to write with this? That'd be really neat!"

His smile broadened. "I can even help you to make your own, if you like – a new one instead of this old thing. But it might not be a bad idea to practise with the old one first." He vacated the chair and went in search of some paper, leaving Candy to twirl the old quill between her fingers and tickling her cheeks with it.

"Captain Gregg?" she began as he returned with a few sheets of paper and invited her to sit down at the desk.

"Yes, Candy?"

"I think I'm going to like having you for a father. Even if it's only a surrogate one."

He looked down at the blonde girl as she eagerly reached for the inkpot to try out the old quill. "And I'm delighted, too, to finally have you for a daughter, Candy Muir," he replied quietly. And he smiled with a tinge of sadness. "Even if it's only make-believe."

.

_Now continued!**  
**_


	2. Chapter 2

_Author's note: Well, what do you know... I really considered the story as it was as complete, now that Candy had finally made the Captain's acquaintance. But upon reading your reviews, and more importantly a few fateful lines in Violet Stella's story "_Anniversary_" (read it if you haven't yet!), a seed germinated in my mind that prompted me to continue this story – simply because I began to realize that the adventure of Candy's essay was not likely to have ended here. For surely in a town the size of Schooner Bay, claiming to have a Captain for a father when your father really is dead would not remain without consequences..._

_But I do have to confess one thing. It's easy to write people into a mess. Getting them out again is something altogether different. And to be honest, for now I'm still as much in the dark as the story's protagonists as to how to solve the problem that begins to rear its head in this chapter, so I'll be blundering right along with them in trying to find a solution. But if you don't mind that, I think you might enjoy this piece of psychological warfare in Schooner Bay!  
_

_Continuing this though, I really feel I ought to dedicate this story to my own father. He, too, died many years ago, and writing this story seems to be bringing back all kinds of memories of him. Much like Candy's contact with the Captain now brings back memories of her own Dad._

_But of that, you will find out more once you continue reading the story of _An Essay with Consequences_. I hope you will enjoy the continuation as much as the one chapter original!_

.

* * *

"I noticed Mrs. Muir coming in to see you again this morning," Mrs. Winter said when Mrs. Henderson entered the faculty room with her lunchbox and an arm full of copybooks. "What did she have to say about her daughter's essay?"

Mrs. Henderson sighed and carefully dropped her load on her desk. "Merely that Candace had found it difficult to write about her real father, because it's been so long since he died that she has trouble recalling what he was like. So concocting that story about a seacaptain was merely a fancy way of dealing with her homework assignment. According to Mrs. Muir, Candace doesn't _really_ believe that her father is a seacaptain – she is well aware that she made it up herself."

Mrs. Winter tutted her lips. "If she says so... If you ask me, she's simply denying the problem. No child can deal with the loss of a parent without consequences. Remember the Roper boy?"

"I didn't say I agreed with her," Mrs. Henderson pointed out.

Mrs. Winter shook her head. "So sad that we can't _order_ them to get counseling. They all need it – badly if you ask me."

On her other side, her daughter Mrs. Wilkins looked up. "The Muir kids? What's wrong with them? Jonathan in my class is a delightful boy – lively and imaginative."

"Imaginative – oh yes!" Mrs. Winter raised her eyes to heaven. "Remember when he first started school here last year, and he was always talking about that ghost of Captain Gregg? It's all the fault of their mother, if you ask me. Fancy moving into that haunted old house – with two young and impressionable children! No wonder those kids got a little queer in the head."

Mrs. Wilkins shook her head, and decided to come to the defence of her pupil. "Jonathan hasn't mentioned Captain Gregg since long before Christmas, mother," she pointed out.

"But he's always talking about all this... this... seafaring stuff," her mother retorted.

"Hardly surprising when a city-boy moves to an environment like this," friendly Mrs. Wilkins palliated.

"But his language!" Mrs. Winter closed her eyes in horror, and even Mrs. Wilkins couldn't help a sigh. Jonathan's language – inventive and colourful though it may be – really was a problem.

"You really are too soft on him, Hilda," her mother admonished. "When I'll have him in my class next year, I'll make him wash out his mouth with soap – _every_ time he lays his tongue to such horrible expressions. That'll teach him soon enough."

"You know..." a pensive Mrs. Henderson cut into the argument. "Now that you mention it, I realize that this story of Candace's bears a certain resemblance to the tales her brother used to tell about his imaginary Captain friend. There is – how shall I put it – a certain continuity to it. Almost as if they were talking about the same person."

Mrs. Winter snorted disdainfully. "So Candace has taken over her brother's imaginary friend. It only strengthens my plea that they should get counseling. The sooner, the better, if you ask me."

"If you ask me..." Mrs. Wilkins grimaced as she realized she had taken over her mother's catchphrase, but continued nonetheless. "If you ask me, we're making a mountain out of a molehill here. I dare say Jonathan has pretty much grown out of his imaginary friend phase, and apparently Candace is well aware that the Captain she wrote about is not really her father, so..."

"That's what her mother says!" Mrs. Winter raised a warning finger. "The question is, can a mother be trusted when it comes to her own child?"

"No, she can't," Mrs. Henderson filled in. "That is one of the first rules of Keystone Teacher's College, remember? _'The parent is by definition biased and ignorant. _Never_ rely on a parent's judgement regarding his or her own child'_."

"And especially not when that parent is an artist!" Mrs. Winter added emphatically.

* * *

The rest of the week passed quietly, and at least at Schooner Bay Elementary School no more was said about the incident.

But at Gull Cottage that Friday night, the bedtime ritual was a little different than usual.

"Jonathan," his mother said as she waited for her son to scoot under the blankets. "What do you say we go to Keystone tomorrow? You're badly in need of new sandals, and I'm sure if you wear those wellingtons a day longer, your toes will curl up for good!"

"Oh, Mu-um...!" Jonathan whined.

"Nix with the 'oh Mum'." Mrs. Muir put the covers over him. "You need new sandals and new wellingtons, so that's it. And if you keep your whining to a minimum, we can spend the rest of the day at the Marine Museum in Keystone."

"The museum?" Jonathan shot upright again. "We're going to the museum? Oh, I so want to go there! Captain Gregg says it has some of the finest sea charts in all of New England!"

Instantly the Captain appeared in the room, making Candy jerk in surprise, and then settle down with a welcoming smile for him.

"Indeed it has!" the Captain confirmed Jonathan's words. "As well as a collection of nautical instruments that were considered antique already in my day!"

Jonathan's eyes shone with anticipation. "Can't you come with us, Captain, and tell us all about it?"

"No, lad." He smiled at Candy. "I have other plans for tomorrow."

"What kind of plans?" Jonathan demanded.

"The Captain is going to spend the day with Candy," his mother explained. "They need some time alone together to get to know each other. To catch up on what you and I have been sharing with him for nearly a year."

"Oh!" Jonathan lay down again. "So she's not coming to Keystone with us then?"

"No, she's not. Besides, she doesn't need new shoes – you do."

"But can't you buy those shoes without me? I'd much rather stay home with the Captain, too."

"And miss out on the Marine Museum?" Captain Gregg straightened himself to his full height. "Ensign Muir, I hereby _order_ you to investigate every nook and cranny in the Marine Museum and to report your findings back to me upon your return tomorrow evening."

Jonathan chuckled and saluted. "Aye aye, sir." He snuggled up under his blanket and shared a hug and a kiss with his Mum.

And when she went over to Candy, the Captain sat down at the edge of Jonathan's bed to tuck him in properly. "Sunday we can all be together," he told the boy quietly. "Just grant your sister one day, alright, lad?"

Jonathan nodded. "I understand. Good night, Captain."

"Good night, Jonathan."

But when he approached Candy's bed after her mother had kissed her goodnight, he did not sit down as he had done with Jonathan. Instead, he remained well out of the range of her outstretched arms. "I am sorry, Candy," he said quietly. "Much as I would love to get a hug from you, I fear the experience would be extremely distressing for everyone in this room – most of all you."

"Yes, I know, but I've been thinking," Candy put forward. "You say you're not solid, so if I'd touch you, my hand would go right through you. Right?"

"Yes."

"But you _are_ able to touch _things_ – papers, the quill, a book. You can pick them up, and you can use them. Jonathan says you can even throw people out of the house. So if you can do _that_ without these things going straight through your hands, you should be able to touch _us_, too!"

Aware of Mrs. Muir's suddenly peaked interest behind him, the Captain shook his head. "It's a little more complicated than that, I'm afraid. I shall try and explain it to you tomorrow, if you like. It would take too long now – it's time for bed."

With a sigh of disappointment, Candy lay down. "This ghost business is weird."

"Unfortunately it is, yes." Now the Captain sat down at the edge of her bed and tucked in the covers around her.

Candy paid careful attention to his hands. There wasn't even a hint of the covers going through them. Nor did the Captain fall straight through her bed, and on through the floor. This ghost business really was weird.

"Good night, Candy," the Captain wished her. "And tomorrow you may ask me anything you want about this 'ghost business', and I promise I will explain it to the best of my abilities."

She smiled. "Thank you, Captain. And good night to you, too."

* * *

As he had expected, Mrs. Muir stopped him the moment the door of the children's bedroom was closed behind them. "That was a very interesting theory of Candy's, Captain. Why is it that you can pick up and manipulate _things_ as if you're solid, but it doesn't work with people?"

Silently, he led the way to the Master Cabin, and still without a word, he poured them both a glass of madeira.

"Well?" Mrs. Muir prompted when he sat down and toasted to her.

He took another pretend sip of his madeira, and contemplated the glass in his hand. "Madam," he began at long last. "Being a ghost is not as easy as it looks. The ability to pick up and manipulate objects when you're not solid yourself is an advanced skill. A skill that has to be learned." He suddenly chuckled. "It took me years to perfect it to the point that I could do it without thinking."

She smiled at the image his words brought to her mind. "So you were a rather clumsy ghost in the beginning?"

He grunted. "I hate to admit that I was, yes."

Silence.

"So how do you do it? Picking up objects and stuff?"

"Concentration and coordination, madam," was his reply. "It's telekinesis really. I merely move my hands to match the object's movement that my mind causes. But I don't actually _feel_ the object in my hands." He sighed. "It took me years and years of practice, but by now it's become so routine that I do it without thinking. Without _conscious_ thinking, that is. Much like you put one foot in front of the other when you walk."

"I see." Mrs. Muir sipped her madeira, too, before continuing, "Then how come it doesn't work with people?"

He shook his head. "I don't know _why_ it doesn't work – I just know that it doesn't. And believe me, madam, I've tried." He laughed bitterly. By George, had he tried... And all the more fervently since _she_ had moved in here. Watching her sleep in his own bed, he would quietly summon up every scrap of concentration he could muster, _just_ to be able to stroke her golden hair. Or to touch her hand. If only for a moment, if only _once_...!

But every time he tried, his fingers went straight through her, and she didn't even flinch in her sleep. It was almost as if she wasn't really there – as if she were a delusion. As if _she_ were the ghost...

"Too bad," Mrs. Muir mused in the meantime. "Candy was always very physical with her father. Climbing up on him, hugging him, being carried on his shoulders, piggyback rides, playing horsey, romping, tickling..." She swallowed with a sudden difficulty. "Their laughter used to fill the house from top to bottom. Yet many of those things I've never, ever seen her do again since he passed away. I've never..." Another gulp. "I've never realized before that it may well be what she missed the most after her father died."

The Captain watched how his lady wiped away a lonely tear. "No wonder the lass is trying so hard to recreate something similar with me," he observed quietly.

* * *

Martha had raised her eyebrows when Mrs. Muir told her of the day's arrangements the following morning. "So you're going off to Keystone with Jonathan, and you let Candy go down to the beach all by herself?"

"Well, she's quite a big girl now. I think she's responsible enough to be on her own on our private beach for a few hours. And besides, you're only a few minutes away."

Martha had shaken her sage head. "Well, if you say so, Mrs. Muir. Mind you, I will cast a regular glance down that rock path to make sure she's alright indeed."

Mrs. Muir had laughed. "That's very sweet of you, Martha, but I'm sure she'll be alright."

And alright she was. Together with the Captain she had waved the car with Jonathan and her Mum goodbye, and as they climbed down the rock path together under the cloud-covered sky, at her request he explained to her what he had explained to her mother last night.

Candy continued to clamber down with a frown on her face, using her spade as a walking stick. "Maybe," she stated tentatively when they reached the wet sand of the beach. "Maybe it's got something to do with us being alive."

The Captain tilted his head. "What do you mean?"

"Well, you're dead..." Anxiously she glanced up at him, but he didn't even bat an eyelid, so she continued, "And things like paper and the door and books and stuff – they aren't alive either. So you're in the same realm... kind of. Maybe that's why you can touch and use _them_, but not us." Her frown deepened. "That doesn't make much sense, does it? For it would mean that _we_ couldn't touch those dead things either. And yet we definitely can. At least we should be able to touch _you_ then, too, even if you can't touch us."

The Captain smiled at her earnest attempts to grasp the intricate laws of his existence. "I wouldn't worry too much about it, lass. It's just the way things are, and even if we did understand how it works, we wouldn't be able to change it."

Candy sighed. "But now that you're my surrogate father, I'd like to be able to hug you when I feel like it. Just like I did with my Dad. And you do look like a huggable person." Her tone turned pensive. "It's so strange. Since I've met you, it's like there's this big chest in my mind that has suddenly sprung open, and all my memories of my Dad are suddenly coming back. Things I didn't even remember that I knew. Like they've been in hibernation."

The Captain merely nodded, and slowly began to walk towards the floodline.

Candy fell in beside him and continued, "I remember again that we went to the zoo on my last birthday with my Dad, and that I was a little scared of the elephants because they were so huge. But he held my hand and together we gave the biggest elephant a peanut. And I felt like a hero the rest of the day."

The Captain chuckled. "They must have seemed huge indeed when you were still so small yourself."

Candy nodded. "And I also remember the games my Dad used to play with me. But most of them I don't think you could do if we can't touch each other."

"Your mother told me about those, yes. But we can do other things together," the Captain carefully pointed out, and continued, "Candy, no man will ever be a copy of your Dad. You'll have to learn to judge each man on his own merits – without measuring him up to your Dad. And if your mother were to fall in love again one day, please try to rem..."

"I don't _want_ her to fall in love again," Candy interrupted him with uncharacteristic bluntness.

"Why not?" Captain Gregg was obviously surprised at the vehemence in the girl's words.

Candy just shrugged a little, and avoided his eyes.

"Why not, Candy?" the Captain repeated gently.

Another shrug. "I just don't want things to change anymore." And after a short pause, she added, "It'd be all wrong. Like she'd betray my Dad. She belongs to Dad, and I don't want someone else taking Dad's place."

"Ah. I see." The Captain scratched his ear. He really did 'see' what she meant. But where did that leave him in his own - admittedly odd - relationship with her mother? "Candy." He cleared his throat. "Does it bother you, too, that your mother and I are... well... such good friends?"

A shake of the head, and suddenly Candy snickered. "That's different. You're not real – I mean, not _really_ real. I even think it's kinda cute that you fell in love with her the moment you saw her. But you're no threat to how things are now, if you know what I mean. You can't marry her or anything. So as long as she likes _you_ so much, she won't be marrying anyone else either."

The Captain wasn't sure if he should be flattered or offended by the sneaky way his new surrogate daughter 'implemented' him in her scheme to keep her mother from getting a replacement for her father. But his vanity demanded that he'd ask for some clarification of that last statement. "So she likes me, does she?"

Candy smiled up at him. "Well, I _think_ she does. The way she talks about you... And besides, she seems far happier here than back in Philly." She stopped walking, and added, "And I wanted to thank you for that. For taking care of her, I mean. I'm sure that helps to keep her from crying when I have to be at school."

"My pleasure, lass." The Captain smiled.

They walked on in silence until they reached the waterline, and Candy suggested they'd build a sandcastle and defend it against the incoming sea. "At least I hope the tide is coming _in_." She looked up at her companion. "Is it? Do you know?"

"It's about two hours to high tide," the Captain confirmed.

"Then we better get started." She picked a good spot and started digging a moat and piling up the sand in the middle, meanwhile inquiring with the Captain how come there was such a thing as high tide and low tide.

Accompanied by explanations about the influence of the moon on the seas and about the birth of waves and tsunamis, they constructed a large mound of sand, and as they continued on to the difference between hurricanes, tornadoes and cyclones and how to survive those when you're at sea, a network of groynes and diverting channels were created.

"You know," Candy said as she surveyed the result of their hard work at the first attacks of the sea. "We could have saved ourselves a whole lot of work if you'd just spirited the sand where we wanted it."

The Captain chuckled. "An instant sandcastle, you mean? But where is the fun in that?"

Candy had to admit he had a point there. Doing things yourself was far more fun than watching someone else do it. "Unless it's something you don't like to do, that is," she quickly amended. And she proceeded using the back of her spade to hammer in a piece of driftwood as an extra barricade in front of their sandfortress.

As usual, the waves had little trouble levelling their castle no matter how many distractions, breakwaters and barricades they had set up. But the game ended abruptly when an unexpectedly high breaker broke over Candy's knees, filling her wellingtons to the rim.

"That's it," the Captain said as she came sloshing back to drier ground with a big grin on her face. "We're going back to the house right now. The castle is nearly gone anyway, and I could never face your mother again if I'd let you catch pneumonia out here."

Candy sat down on one of the boulders and emptied her wellingtons. "Well, at least we had fun, didn't we."

He smiled. "We sure did. But how about we go up to the attic now, and see what we can find there for us to pass the afternoon together? Or perhaps you should have some lunch first?"

* * *

Despite his own exciting afternoon at the Marine Museum, Jonathan couldn't help feeling a twinge of jealousy when he heard of all the fun things his sister had gotten to do with the Captain that day. Imagine building a sandcastle together, and making your own quill, and learning calligraphy and how to use a compass when you're lost! And then dressing up in clothes from a hundred years ago, and the Captain telling you tales from faraway countries while you're sipping Martha's sweet hot cocoa!

But when peace and quiet finally descended on Gull Cottage once the children were safely tucked in bed, the Captain remarked to the lady of his house that she truly had a wonderful daughter. "Perceptive, smart, a good logical mind, inquisitive about a wide range of topics... She'll make an excellent scholar one day, I'm sure."

Mrs. Muir beamed with maternal pride.

"And believe me, madam," he continued softly. "There is no need to worry about her forgetting about her father. Based on what she told me this morning, I'd say the case is quite the opposite. And I can assure you she still loves him very, very much."

* * *

The last hour on Monday afternoons was art class. Candy liked art. Her hands couldn't always execute what her mind came up with, but she had a good eye for colour, and a lively imagination that made the creative class truly enjoyable.

They had been painting today, and since it was her turn to be the teacher's helper this week, she had her job cut out for her in properly cleaning the paintbrushes and the waterjugs after school.

She wasn't the only student left in the room though. A handful of girls were flocking around Mrs. Henderson to see how they (and everyone else) had done on today's math test. But that was business as usual, so Candy paid little attention to them.

Until Alice's voice suddenly addressed her over the chatter of the other girls. "Hey Candy, I thought you always said your father was dead?"

"He is." Candy looked back to where Alice's voice came from. And froze.

Her classmate – not an unfriendly one, but certainly a nosy one – stood by _her_ desk, where her books lay ready to be taken home for her homework... and she held her red essay notebook open in her hands!

She felt a fiery blush invading her cheeks, and with as much anger as she could muster, she barked, "Put that down, Alice Miller. It's none of your business."

Alice dropped the notebook back onto the desk and held up her hands. "I'm _sorry_ – I was just showing a little polite interest in what you'd have written for last week's assignment. After all, you always say your father has been dead for years. Or hasn't he?"

But there was Penelope Hassenhammer at her side – the hateful Penelope Hassenhammer. "Let me see." And before Candy could do or even say something to stop her, Penelope gasped, "But Candy's father _isn't_ dead! She writes here that he's a seacaptain!"

"What? A _seacaptain_?" came the surprised cries from the other girls in the room, drowning out Mrs. Henderson's stern, "Now, Penelope..."

And totally ignoring her dripping, paint-smeared hands, Candy rushed forward. "Mind your own business!" she hissed as she tried to snatch her notebook from Penelope's hands.

But Penelope was quicker and held it out of her reach. "_'My father's name is Daniel Edward Muir'_," she read tauntingly as Candy made another failed attempt to recover her notebook. "_'He is a very nice man, with blue eyes and lightbrown curly hair and a beard.'_"

"Stop it, Penelope!" Candy yelled, close to tears.

But the girl read on. "_'He is a seacaptain, and that is why he is hardly ever home with us.'_" She smirked. "Doesn't sound very dead to _me_."

"Now, girls," Mrs. Henderson's voice intervened.

But her intervention came too late – Penelope was already screaming as Candy smeared her wet, paint-smudged hands all over her nemesis's pretty yellow frock.

"Candace Muir!" Suddenly the teacher's voice rang out over all the horrified gasps and screams in the room.

But Candy didn't wait for the teacher's wrath to come down on her. She finally managed to grab the fateful notebook out of Penelope's hand, pushed aside one or two of her classmates and the next moment she was running down the hall, blinded with tears, and into the sunshine outside.

.

_To be continued..._


	3. Chapter 3

"Candy – hey, Candy!"

Recognizing Jonathan's high-pitched voice, Candy halted her run abruptly.

"Over here!"

She brushed away her tears, and made her way over to the car. Mrs. Coburn's – not Mum's.

"What's wrong?" Jonathan asked wide-eyed.

"Nothing." Once more she brushed at her tears, and got in the back of the car with him.

But he kept staring at her. "You've got paint all over your face."

"Are you alright, Candy dear?" Mrs. Coburn asked in the rearview mirror as she started the car.

"Yes, Mrs. Coburn," Candy murmured dutifully.

"Alright, then we better get going. Linda has a dentist appointment at four, so we're running late." Mrs. Coburn was always running late, or in a hurry, or on a tight schedule.

All during the ride home, Candy managed to stem the flow of her tears. Jonathan kept casting her odd looks, but he didn't ask anything, so Candy remained silent, too.

But the moment they entered Gull Cottage, the tears were back in a flood.

Coming out of the kitchen to greet them, Martha exclaimed, "Good heavens, Candy! What happened to you? You look like an Indian on the war path!"

"Where's Mum?" was all Candy blubbered in reply.

"Your mother is upstairs. But..."

Candy didn't wait for the rest. She stumbled up the stairs as fast as she could, and the moment she barged into her mother's room she howled, "I don't want to go back to school!"

"Candy!" Mrs. Muir was on her feet in an instant. "What happened?"

The girl already flung herself at her chest, and she was crying so violently now that Mrs. Muir understood it would be a while before she'd get a coherent story out of her daughter. She sat down again, pulling Candy onto her lap and putting her arms protectively around her. And Candy buried her paint-smeared face against her mother's neck and just cried and cried.

The Captain appeared, too, looking gruff and a little distressed. "What's that, Candy? No need to let things get you down that badly. Shape up, girl!"

But Mrs. Muir shook her head. "Please, Captain, not now. Let her cry it out first," she said quietly.

"But... oh, blast!" The Captain turned away. "I never could bear to see a woman cry." And he disappeared again.

Mrs. Muir rolled her eyes, and focused on her daughter again. The girl was beginning to calm down, and lovingly, Mrs. Muir rubbed her back.

"Now what's this all about," she inquired gently as the violent howling was finally reduced to sniffs and sobs.

"I don't want to go back to school," Candy hiccupped as she made a renewed attempt to dry her tears with her sleeve. It came off all smudged with paint of an indefinable colour.

"You already told me that. Why not? What happened?"

And interspersed with sniffs and hiccups, the whole story came out: about Alice and the notebook and Penelope reading it to everyone and the yellow dress... "And now Mrs. Henderson will be mad at me, and Penelope's Mum, too... And she's sure to tell the whole school that I'm a liar, and then nobody will ever want to be friends with me again, and..." A hiccup. "No one will ever believe me again when I say that my father is dead, even though it's true."

Mrs. Muir sighed and hugged her daughter tight. Candy's assessment of the consequences sounded all too accurate. Especially the part about no one wanting to be friends with her stung, for unlike Jonathan, Candy was still very much an outsider in her class. The new girl from the city. Tolerated in their midst, but not accepted as a member of the group.

"Mrs. Muir?" Martha's voice called from downstairs at that moment.

"Yes, Martha?"

"Telephone for you. It's Mrs. Hassenhammer."

Candy shuddered involuntarily.

"Tell her to call back in an hour or so," Mrs. Muir called back.

"She says it's urgent," Martha warned.

"Well, I've got some urgent business of my own to take care of. Tell her I'll be happy to speak with her in an hour." She grimaced at Candy. "I don't think it's going to be a very _happy_ conversation, but Mrs. Hassenhammer is _my_ responsibility, okay? You need not bother yourself about her."

Candy heaved a sigh. She felt so tired all of a sudden. "But Penelope..."

"Yes, Penelope _is_ your responsibility. But you two have had your disagreements before – and you survived those, didn't you?"

Candy sighed. "But do I have to apologize to her?"

"Well, what do you think?"

Candy pondered the question in silence, and finally she concluded, "I suppose I should, shouldn't I. Even though I don't feel even remotely sorry for what I did."

Mrs. Muir had a quiet laugh and kissed her daughter on the head. "Don't tell anyone, but I probably would have done the same thing in your place. But that doesn't make it right. It was wrong of Penelope to read your story to the other girls, especially after you told her not to. But that still doesn't give you the right to smear paint all over her dress."

Candy rested her head against her mother's shoulder. "And Mrs. Henderson is going to be _so_ mad at me..."

"Yes, she probably will," her mother confirmed matter-of-factly. "She'll give you a good scolding, and make you do lines or detention work... And that's alright, because you deserve _some_ punishment for what you did. But that's not going to last forever. Things will return to normal soon enough."

"And the other kids?" Candy asked in a small voice.

Her mother sighed. "Sweetheart, everyone commits a few big blunders in their life. The others might tease you with it for a while, yes, but then someone else makes a bad goof, and all kinds of other things happen... And before you know it, people will have forgotten all about you writing that your father is a seacaptain. That's the way things work."

Candy sighed. "It seemed such a good idea to write about the Captain instead. But it's brought me nothing but trouble."

Her mother smiled down on her. "It did come with one good side though – you've finally met the Captain."

The girl looked up. "Was he mad at me, too, when he was here just now?"

"No, he wasn't." Her mother chuckled a little. "He just doesn't know how to deal with a crying woman. It's not uncommon in men – believe me. But with us females being in the majority in this household, he'll just have to get used to it."

Candy made no reply. She just remained where she was, safely ensconced in her mother's arms. "I wish Dad were here," she said faintly at last.

Mrs. Muir closed her eyes as the all too familiar pain soared through her again. "Me too, sweetheart," she whispered. "Me too."

* * *

"Yes, Mrs. Hassenhammer... Yes, Mrs. Hassenhammer, Candy told me..." Mrs. Muir sensed the Captain behind her and made an exasperated face at him as Mrs. Hassenhammer's mincing voice went on and on about the havoc wreaked on her daughter's dress.

"_And totally out of the blue! What ever has come over your daughter, Mrs. Muir? She's almost wild!"_

"Well, I won't excuse what Candy did," Mrs. Muir countered. "But from what I understand, it wasn't entirely unprovoked."

A gasp. _"Mrs. Muir, what on earth do you mean? My Penelope would _never_...!"_

"I think you'd better ask Penelope," Mrs. Muir suggested sweetly. "After all, she was there."

There was a two second silence, but then Mrs. Hassenhammer took up her lament again. _"But still, provoked or not – to ruin such a beautiful dress! It will never be the same again!"_

"Balderdash," the Captain grumbled. "I just popped over there to have a look. There's nothing wrong with that frilly frock that a good wash won't fix."

"Mrs. Hassenhammer, have you tried giving the stains a good scrub with soap and water?" Mrs. Muir asked when she finally got a word in again. "Candy had a few paint-smears on her clothes as well, but I got them out fairly easily."

A horrified cry was her reply. _"Soap and water? A good scrub? Mrs. Muir, what _are_ you suggesting? My daughter doesn't go around in cheap Sears dresses!"_

"Maybe she should," the Captain interjected, forcing Mrs. Muir to bite back a laugh.

But Mrs. Hassenhammer yammered, _"Her father brought this dress especially for her from Paris. It's an authentic Dior! You don't just _wash_ a Dior, Mrs. Muir. They're far too delicate – surely you are aware of that!"_

"Quite." Mrs. Muir grimaced. "So how do you usually clean it? The dry-cleaner's perhaps?"

"_I only need to air it out. Unlike some other girls, _my_ daughter knows how to behave herself."_ The not so subtle superiority was dripping from her voice. _"She _never_ gets her clothes dirty."_

"I would like to pop over there and..."

"Captain!" Mrs. Muir hissed as she saw the glint in his eye. But immediately she turned back to the dragonwoman on the other end of the line. "So what do you suggest, Mrs. Hassenhammer? Merely airing the dress out won't get those stains out."

"_They'll never get out – it's ruined, absolutely ruined! And _you're_ going to pay for a new dress."_

"Now Mrs. Hassenhammer, let's be reasonable." Mrs. Muir's voice suddenly took on its most businesslike tone. "I'm certainly willing to compensate you for what Candy did if the damage turns out to be irreversible. But I refuse to discuss that until you've at least made a serious effort to remove those stains from the dress. Like the dry-cleaner's. Or even plain water and soap."

"_But that will absolutely ruin it!"_ Mrs. Hassenhammer cried.

"Well, if you don't even _try_ to clean it, it's ruined in any case. So what have you got to lose?" She caught the Captain's appreciative nod, and gave him a fleeting smile.

"_Alright, alright, I'll take it to the dry-cleaner's tomorrow,"_ Mrs. Hassenhammer wisely backpedaled. _"But _you're_ going to have to pay the bill, whether the stains come out or not!"_

"Fine," Mrs. Muir agreed. "Then we'll talk again in a few days when we know the result."

"_But they won't come out. I know it,"_ Mrs. Hassenhammer pouted. _"And the dry-cleaner's will just ruin that pretty dress even further. Oh, what is my Harry going to say when he sees this wilful destruction?"_

Mrs. Muir rolled her eyes. "Sorry, Mrs. Hassenhammer. I have to go. I'll talk to you in a few days. Goodbye!" With a sigh she put down the phone and turned to face the Captain.

"You handled that poor excuse for a lady very well, madam," he complimented her.

"Thank you, Captain. But I want to make one thing crystal clear." She folded her arms across her chest. "I do _not_ want you popping over to the Hassenhammers and making stains on all Penelope's clothes. Or even on only _one_ of her garments. Is that understood? And that goes for Mrs. Hassenhammer's own wardrobe as well."

His face was a picture of innocence. "Madam, whatever gave you the idea that I would engage in such abominable activity?"

She shook her head. "I've known you long enough now to have gained some insight into your mind. But we really don't need any further complications in this matter. So please don't do anything foolish, like spilling wine over Mrs. Hassenhammer's best dress."

He proudly held up three fingers. "I promise I won't make any of the Hassenhammer's clothes dirty. Scout's honour."

"There were no scouts yet in your day," Mrs. Muir commented wryly.

"I'll give you my word as an officer and a gentleman then," he offered. "Can't break that, can I?"

She eyed him with distrust. "What are you up to? I can tell you are planning _something_."

"Nothing! Nothing at all!" He held out his hands to emphasize his innocence, but it didn't escape her notice that he quickly changed the subject. "But that Dior fellow... Fancy calling yourself a dressmaker, yet the clothes you make can't even be properly cleaned! And children's clothes no less – the frivolity! No common sense, those blasted Frogs..."

* * *

When Candy discovered after dinner that she had forgotten most of her homework at school, she sank down next to her Mum on the sofa and asked plaintively, "Can't you give me homeschooling, Mum? I'd really rather not go back to school."

"Homeschooling?" Jonathan looked up from his maths. "Yuck! Then you have to do homework all the time!"

Candy ignored him. "Can I please, Mum? You're a writer, so you must be good in English."

"Maybe, but I'm no teacher. Besides, if I have to work with you all the time, when am I supposed to work to put bread on the table? We'd all starve!"

"How about the Captain then?" Candy suggested. "He's got all the time in the world, and he knows an awful lot about history and geography. And I bet he's good in maths, too."

"I certainly am." No one was surprised when the Captain materialized in front of the fireplace. "And I would be happy to take over your education, Candy."

"Mine, too!" Jonathan shouted.

"And yours, too," the Captain nodded. "Those schoolteachers here are nothing but a bunch of silly old..."

Mrs. Muir quickly interrupted him. "Captain, will you please stay out of this?"

"But I want to study with the Captain!" Jonathan protested as he recognized the signs of his Mum's refusing a great idea. "He teaches me a lot more fun things than Mrs. Wilkins!"

"You can study with the Captain all you want – after school, and provided you do your homework properly," Mrs. Muir declared.

"Aw, Mu-um...!"

"Really, madam..."

But Mrs. Muir was inexorable. "And that's final. Jonathan, you get back to your maths. Candy, you can at least write this week's essay, and..."

"No, I can't," Candy muttered. "I needed my history book for that."

"Well, then I suppose you have the night off tonight, and a double load tomorrow."

Candy heaved a sigh.

"But really, madam, I would be more than happy to..."

"Captain." Mrs. Muir raised her hand to forestall a continuation of the argument. "I'll be happy to discuss the subject with you some time – but not in front of the children."

Jonathan looked up. "So there's still a chance that we can get to study with the Captain all day long instead of going to school?"

"Technically yes, but the chances are negligible," was his mother's answer.

"What does 'negilible' mean?"

"It's '_negligible_'," Candy corrected him gloomily. "And it means 'practically non-existent'. Zero. Not a chance."

* * *

"So what are you going to do first?"

Candy looked down at her hands. "Go in and tell Mrs. Henderson I'm sorry I ran away, and give her your note about my homework."

"Right. And what next?"

"I wait for Penelope to arrive and apologize to her, too." She sighed. "But _she's_ the one who should do the apologizing – really!"

"I'm sure she will. But you've got some apologizing to do yourself, so you might as well go first and get it over and done with."

Candy heaved a sigh that seemed to come all the way from her toes, and reached for the doorhandle.

"And I'll wait here in the car a little longer in case you want to come and tell me how it went. Okay?" She pulled her daughter in for a hug. "And remember, apologizing may not be the most pleasant thing to do, but it tends to clear the air, and at least it's over quickly."

Candy granted her a feeble smile, and slowly got out of the car.

And Mrs. Muir followed her daughter with her eyes as she trudged up to the school's entrance. Her heart cried for her baby – only she was no baby anymore. In a few months she'd be ten years old. And a near ten-year-old should be able to handle a teacher's scolding without Mummy holding her hand and speaking up for her. It was all part of letting your children go as they grow up, and learning to withdraw as a parent and let them stand on their own two feet. But that didn't mean it was easy on her as a mother. Especially not with Candy looking so vulnerable as she went there...

"Good morning, Mrs. Muir. How are you today?"

Mrs. Muir started out of her reverie. "Oh! Hello, Mrs. Visser."

Mrs. Visser gave her a knowing look. "You _are_ a dark horse, aren't you. I'd never have guessed..."

Mrs. Muir frowned. "I'm sorry... You'd never guessed what?"

"Come now, Mrs. Muir." Mrs. Visser clucked her tongue. "I'm sure it's all over town. No need to keep it a secret anymore now, is there?"

But Mrs. Muir didn't have a clue. "Excuse me – what are you talking about?"

Eyebrows were raised. "As if _you_ wouldn't know..." With that, she walked on, leaving Mrs. Muir with a frustrated urge to yell that she _didn't_ know indeed.

She frowned. What on earth was that all about? She racked her brains, but she wasn't aware of anything she'd said or done lately that could excite the local galah session.

Oh well... She had an irritated shrug. Sooner or later she was bound to find out on whose toes she'd stepped this time. That was definitely one of the downsides of living up here in Schooner Bay: everyone considered it their legitimate business to keep a close watch on everyone else's life, and discuss anything out of the ordinary in infinite length. It was certainly one of the reasons she didn't feel particularly inclined to join in the town's social life.

She was still pondering the little mystery when an excited Candy came running back to the car. "Mum, guess what!" Not again, please...

But Candy didn't give her a chance to guess. "The Captain must have fixed Penelope's dress overnight!"

"What?" That did sound slightly alarming! What had he done now?

"Yes! They had hung it in the bathroom to take it to the dry-cleaner's today, and this morning all the paint was gone! Just disappeared! How else could that have happened? It _must_ have been the Captain!"

"Well, then I guess we'd better thank him for sparing us that dry-cleaner's bill," Mrs. Muir commented wryly.

"Her mother said it was 'a miracle from heaven bestowed upon the righteous'." Candy did a good imitation of Mrs. Hassenhammer's affected way of speaking, but then her face fell a bit. "And with this 'miracle' bestowed upon her, Penelope was more lordly than ever. And she didn't apologize for yesterday either."

"Oh dear." Mrs. Muir chuckled. "Perhaps I should have let the Captain have his way then."

Candy wasn't one to let such a teaser rest. "What? What did he want to do then?"

Another chuckle. "I believe he wanted to make stains on all Penelope's clothes. And on Mrs. Hassenhammer's, too, I suspect."

Candy giggled. "That would sure teach her!"

"Now don't get any ideas you!" her mother admonished. "You've had your share in the fun, and you've gotten into enough trouble over it. By the way, what did Mrs. Henderson say?"

Candy's face fell. "I have to stay after school and do lines today. And I'll get extra homework, too." She sighed. "Looks like I won't have any time left to play today."

"Cheer up," her mother said just as the school bell rang. "Martha or I will come and pick you up after school today, and at least tomorrow things will be back to normal."

And with a final hug goodbye, they went their separate ways.

* * *

But if Mrs. Muir could have been a fly on the wall at the Grover's place that morning, she would not have so happily predicted that things would be back to normal again tomorrow...

"Have you heard the news?" was the standard greeting phrase for Schooner Bay's sewing circle, for no member ever failed to bring along some fresh juicy gossip to help pass the tedious time sewing.

But today, even Mrs. Hassenhammer's wondrous tale of the miraculous restoration of her daughter's Dior dress paled into insignificance by the whispered bombshell that Mrs. Miller provided. And it _had_ to be true, for independently of each other, Mrs. Visser and Mrs. Jones arrived with the exact same story on their lips.

"Have you heard the news? Mrs. Muir is no widow at all – she's married to a seacaptain! How shocking!"

Mrs. Grover shook her head. "I never trusted that woman – never."

"So how did you find out?" an eager Mrs. O'Hara demanded.

"Her daughter Candy gave it away," Mrs. Jones said, quick to share the limelight. "Mrs. Henderson made the class write an essay about their father last week. My Sally got an A by the way. But instead of writing that her father was dead as the Muir kids usually tell everyone, Candy let slip this time that he's a seacaptain."

Mrs. Miller nodded quickly. "My Alice has seen it with her own eyes!"

"My Suzie says," Mrs. Visser cut in. "That Candy tried to stop Alice from reading it – as if she were afraid people would find out the truth. But then your Penelope," a nod to Penelope's mother, "Came along and read it out loud to everyone in the room."

"So that must be why Candy attacked my dear Penelope's beautiful dress!" Mrs. Hassenhammer exclaimed. "Really, that girl is almost wild!"

But with such a delightfully juicy tidbit of gossip on their hands, no one was interested in the fate of Penelope's dress.

"Those poor kids," Mrs. O'Hara mused. "Imagine being forced to tell everyone that your father is dead, even when you know all too well that he isn't. What kind of mother would do such a thing?"

"That's obvious – an artist who only by a mistake of nature became a mother," Mrs. Grover stated with deadly finality. "Artists only think of themselves, and they crave attention – everybody knows that. And Mrs. Muir is no exception." She shook her head. "Those city people... Really, they have no morals at all. To claim being a widow, _just_ to get everyone's compassion no doubt! It's disgusting..."

"Abominable," Mrs. Keane agreed.

"Shocking!"

"Distasteful."

"Outrageous!" the other ladies chimed in one by one.

The sewing went on for a minute or two in silence, while the ladies turned these new facts over in their minds and adjusted their perception of Mrs. Muir.

"But I wonder – why would any woman do such a shameful thing?" Mrs. O'Hara inquired at last. "Yes, she's an artist and yes, she may be a bit odd – she'd _have_ to be, living in that awful house. But I don't quite see her as the flighty type. I mean, it's not like she has lovers over by the handful."

"How do _we_ know?" Mrs. Hassenhammer asked pointedly. "Living there in that ghostly shack all the way down Gregg Road, she could have dozens of visitors a day, and we'd never know."

There were stunned gasps around the room, but Mrs. Visser remarked, "She could not. At least not strangers. The town would know. There's no other way to get onto Gregg Road than through Schooner Bay, since the road there has no exit on the other end. So we'd have noticed if the traffic thither had suddenly intensified."

"But has that elusive husband of hers ever visited them?" Mrs. Keane wondered. "I mean, they've been living here for nearly a year now. You'd expect a husband and father to come and see how they're making out sometimes – even if he is a seacaptain. But I don't recall hearing about a captain coming to visit Gull Cottage. Several other people, yes, but not a seacaptain."

"Captain Gregg might pay them a visit now and then," Mrs. Visser joked bravely.

"And _he_ doesn't have to come through town," Mrs. Jones added with a clear tremour in her voice. After all, the ghost of Captain Gregg was not mentioned lightly among the natives of Schooner Bay.

"Or perhaps her husband visits her incognito," Mrs. Keane put forward. "In civilian clothes, I mean. And if he's not in uniform when he comes here, how are we supposed to know he's a captain?"

"Or maybe..." Mrs. Jones began hesitantly. "Maybe he _can't_ visit her. Because he's – you know – _in jail_..."

Mrs. Hassenhammer gasped, and Mrs. Grover turned her head away in abhorrence. "Abominable," she murmured.

"We all know the reputation seamen have," Mrs. Jones continued to her enraptured audience, conveniently forgetting that many of the men in their own respectable little fisherman's town would fall under that same header. "And it would explain Mrs. Muir's behaviour, wouldn't it?" She lowered her voice to a half whisper. "Of course she could not live down the disgrace of having her husband in the clink. So she leaves the city and moves up here, where nobody knows anything about her, and claims she's a widow in order to prevent us from finding out the truth...!"

.

_To be continued..._


End file.
